


Turning Point

by misura



Category: Blade (Movie Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Community: smallfandomfest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2013-03-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 14:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/901606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/pseuds/misura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“You fought well,” Drake says, which is just so fucking sweet of him. “For a human.”</i>
</p><p><i>Hannibal wonders who taught the guy English. “You got a tiny dick. For a vampire.”</i> (AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Point

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: _Drake/Hannibal King, Final battle, loose ends tied. Drake in his uber vampire form and Hannibal bleeding but ready to fight. Too bad he doesn't know that the vampire has more in mind than a mere battle of blades_ (dreamerchaos)
> 
> which I translated to: they don't spring Blade from prison and instead, Hannibal goes after Drake by his lonesome self.

_Ready to die?_

_I was born ready, motherfucker._

And in hindsight, maybe that hadn't actually been quite up to Hannibal's usual standard of snappy comebacks, but, well, Drake's not really your standard suckhead with delusions of immortality and a foolproof plan for world domination, and Hannibal - well.

He's good at this, all right? He's fast, he's furious, and he's danced this dance plenty of times.

Unfortunately, Drake's better. Faster. More furious.

 

 _On the upside,_ Hannibal thought to himself, _at least he's not going to turn me._

It's almost funny, really; even now, he's still more scared of that crazy bitch Danica and her little games and toys, than he is of the fucker who's about to kill him. Has killed him already, possibly, although Hannibal's fairly sure he's still got another round left in him, maybe even two.

He's done pretty good, Hannibal thinks, considering the odds. Got Drake to drop that far too handsome human disguise of his and show himself for the monster he really is, complete with monster dick.

A bit embarrassing, maybe, that that's the bit Hannibal's eyes keep being drawn to, but then, it's not as if anyone's going to know. And, fuck, it's not as if being a fearless vampire killer gets you laid on a regular basis or anything - sooner the opposite, in fact.

Paranoia's only healthy, when you know they really are out to get you back.

From that point of view, he's sort of winning here. Dying, sure, and if he bothered to stop and notice, it'd hurt like hell, but after today, he's never going to need to worry about Danica getting her claws in him ever again.

_Too bad, kitten. You lost this one._

“You fought well,” Drake says, which is just so fucking sweet of him. “For a human.”

Hannibal wonders who taught the guy English. “You got a tiny dick. For a vampire.”

Abby always told him he never learnt when to keep his mouth shut. He did learn, though, more or less. He figured out that, sure, there's a good time to stop with the smart-mouthing and insulting and needling.

That time would be 'never'. Or, in a pinch, 'when you've been gagged and/or knocked unconscious'. Any other time, no harm in putting your mouth on auto-pilot. It's the way he fights, too, and that's worked out pretty well for him, until today.

Anyway, it's not as if Abby's one to talk, with her compulsive-obsessive iPad playlist making.

“Big enough to make you moan, I bet,” Drake says, which is not quite the reply Hannibal'd been counting on.

Most guys, when you comment on the size of their dicks, they either get mad or change the subject. It's a guy thing.

Jarko would have gotten mad. Asher would have hit him and changed the subject. Danica, being a woman, would have informed him that what she's got is still enough to make him her bitch.

Maybe Drake hasn't quite gotten to the slang yet.

“Fuck you.”

Or maybe he's actually, fucking honest to God considering it, the way Hannibal is now - although Hannibal, at least, has got the excuse of being near death. Blood loss makes people light-headed; that's common knowledge.

“If that's all you've got, I don't think so,” Drake says, and that pretty much settles the slang question, Hannibal supposes. “But best me in our next duel, and perhaps I will consider it.”

“Seriously, fuck you,” Hannibal says, because he's had a lifetime's experience of people knowing exactly what it means when he says that, and it's hard to break the habit. “What next duel? I'm dead, you stupid fuck. You killed me.”

“You're talking pretty loudly for a dead man.” It's hard to read expressions on a non-human face, but Hannibal thinks Drake might be looking ... pensive. Thoughtful.

A vampire could have taken everything Drake's dished out so far and lived. Fuck, a vampire could have had its arms and legs chopped off and still gotten better ... eventually.

Hannibal's human, though. For now.

“Fuck.” He means to just think it, but the word slips out. Drake's not Danica; he's not going to turn Hannibal just so he can play with him some more. (Well, Hannibal doesn't think so, anyway. It's hard to remember he's only met the guy for the first time less than two weeks ago, sometimes.)

“You're afraid,” Drake says, and that's just the fucking icing on the fucking cake. “You weren't afraid before, King. Is it because you're dying?”

“I don't want you to fucking turn me into a fucking suckhead,” Hannibal says, and then he wants to throw up or kill himself, because of all the fucking stupid things he's ever said, this one's got to take the first prize.

“I wasn't offering to turn you,” Drake says, baring his teeth. “I was just saying I'd like to fuck you.”

“Good.” Hannibal's sword feels like it weighs a ton. “Great. Glad we got that clear.”

“I think I _will_ fuck you,” Drake says. “Once we're done here.”

Hannibal manages not to go down the same conversational road they've been down before. Drake isn't going to turn him, and Hannibal might, possibly, die with a monster dick up his ass. There's worse ways to die, and thanks to Danica, he's experienced several of them first-hand.

It's a pity about Abby, who really needs someone to lighten the mood a bit sometimes. Zoe - well, Zoe's going to be just fine, probably. With him dead, there's really no reason for Danica to hold on to her, and just because he's fucked up here, that doesn't mean the rest of the team has failed, too.

Who knows? Maybe they'll spring Blade out of prison, or wherever they're keeping him these days, get themselves a real pro to show them the ropes. Maybe Abby'll get back together with her old man, make it a family business.

Maybe they'll come up against Drake, one day, and do the smart thing by shooting him from a distance, instead of challenging him to a duel. Less fun, maybe, and probably no prospect of monster nookie, but still. They might live, that way.

“Ready if you are,” he says.

Drake grins. “Bring it, motherfucker.”


End file.
